


And So It Goes

by CulperJr



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CulperJr/pseuds/CulperJr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d asked her if she’d found some hidden love for the king. "To hell with the king," she scoffed, but she had rushed from the room at the mention of Hewlett.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Growing Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the prologue of what I plan to make a multi-chapter fic. Hope you enjoy!

She sat on the edge of her bed, not bothering to light the candle on her side table. Facing the window, she had a clear view of the almost-full moon. It gave her a sense of comfort that felt strange to her; the sort of feeling that one cannot give reason to. A single tear trailed down her cheek as she sat there, replaying Abe’s words in her mind. The words were still ringing in her ears. 

“What changed for you?” 

He’d asked her if she’d found some hidden love for the king. To hell with the king, she scoffed, but she had rushed from the room at the mention of Hewlett. The revealed truth of her growing feelings for Edmund– ones that she had thus far managed to push aside– had cut like a knife. She felt sick.

 

“Edmund," she thought, her eyes pressing shut.

 

It didn’t matter how much she tried to stifle them, douse them like a fire, feeling for him would continually resurface. As soon as the flame had seemingly died, something unexpected and exhilarating– a brushing of hands, and innocent compliment– would set her heart to pounding. She felt the fire within her grow more powerful than before. But he’s the enemy, she thought, a lump forming in her throat. No longer sitting, Anna began to pace, wringing her fingers together nervously as she did so. She must take control of this, but she was weakening– hopelessly weakening. 

 

She stepped closer to the window. Impulsively, she un-latched it. Her chamber had grown too warm, and she breathed deeply the cool air that touched her skin. Resting her arms on the window sill, she looked up at the clear sky and admired the expanse of bright, twinkling lights. A gentle breeze came in from the east that brushed her features, and her stray curls danced around her face. The serenity was disrupted by her troubled thoughts. Dare she act on her weakness? Give up the ring? Tears pricked at her eyes once more as she recalled her confrontation with Abe in his cellar. Since his release from prison, everything had been different. He was different. There had been a reckless, scared look in his eyes. He had wanted her to kill the one man who had shown her genuine kindness, and treated her with the gentlest respect. It was murder, and for what? Abe had been so foolish of late, sloppy even. Edmund had come so frighteningly close to death. 

Dear God, she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. 

The tears began to flow freely, and she raged inside. And what would he gain from this new scheme? Killing the Major’s courier? She was still reeling from Mary’s uncharacteristic suggestion. Had she helped Abe before? Anna’s mind raced.

 

A feeling of resentment was forming in her heart for Abraham Woodhull, but however ill her sentiments, he was right about her growing fondness for Hewlett. He was a completely different man from the cold British officer she had known a year earlier. Not only a man of great intelligence, but passion, and sincere kindness and consideration for others. Anna surprised herself slightly with her high opinion of him, but all of these things were true. He had shown her a kind of respect that she had so rarely been given. Edmund had offered her protection, as well as friendship. Purely platonic, as he had put it, with a forced air of nonchalance. Anna giggled to herself now, recalling how he, being so apparently nervous, had stumbled over his words that evening in the tavern.

 

However awkward he may have been, she was truly touched by his proposal of friendship. Since then, they had been able to confide in each other details of themselves. The night she had spent with him by his telescope, Edmund had revealed his passion for astronomy. The childlike enthusiasm that illuminated his features made her grin to herself. No, he was not a cold, cruel officer; he had a very tender spirit. That evening, he had told her of the constancy of the heavens. Perhaps that’s why the moon and stars gave her comfort now. She looked up, effortlessly locating constellations he had shown her before. It was as if she were seeing the night sky for the first time. There was no wonder he loved the stars so much, for their beauty took her breath away.

 

It was strange– speaking to him, confiding in him. There was always a flag frantically waving in the back of her mind, reminding her that she was on the other side. Of course she was always cautious, but her heart was slipping. The afternoon he had spoken with her in the library, she was clearing away the pile of books the judge had let collapse from the shelf. While doing so, she had explained the strained relationship between herself and the magistrate. 

 

“Richard has never gotten over the– enmity he bore my family." she’d said. 

 

Before finishing her statement, Edmund had placed a hand on the book she was reaching for. Intentional or not, there fingers had gently brushed, and a new sort of tension had formed between them. He had barely been able to meet her eyes as he withdrew his hand. Anna blushed furiously at the memory, but she then remembered what he had said. 

 

“The sins of the father shall not be visited upon his children.” His voice had grown so soft, and the consideration in his tone touched her even now. He deeply cared.

 

Confusion was her friend, it seemed, for she wondered if these feelings were the product of desperate loneliness, a need for affection. No, it couldn’t be, she thought with a frown. For no man had she ever felt so ardently, not Abe–and if she were to be truthful– not even her husband. She felt a pang of guilt at that. Hewlett’s capture by the patriots had shaken her to her very core. It was true, the Major's release was vital to that of Abraham's, but deep down, she knew that that had not been the whole of her concerns. An emptiness had formed inside of her in that dark hour, when it seemed that all hope was lost for him. 

 

Looking out at the heavens once more, she sighed. The breeze had faded, and the cool air had rapidly grown cooler. She felt her finger tips tingling, and was sure that her nose must be quite rosy. Her eyes found their way back to the glowing moon as she gently shut the window. Fixed on its glowing light, she rested her forehead against the smooth, cold surface. As her breath slowly clouded the glass, she wondered just how long she could keep this ever-growing flame within her a secret.


	2. What was that?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was there even the slightest possibility that she returned his admiration?
> 
> [this chapter has been revised]

Several hours before daylight, Major Hewlett woke abruptly. It was another nightmare, but this was different from the others. 

Dreams have a strange way of revealing one’s biggest fears. A nightmare can easily manipulate memories, making them distorted or adding a vulgarity to the memory that was never there, intensifying one’s aversion to an event. He’d had multiple dreams of his capture since returning home to Whitehall, but never one concerning dear Anna. It was as if his horrid experience had reversed itself in his mind, giving him the vision of her being taken instead. Of course, this experience was dreadful for himself, causing physical pain and illness, but the image of Mrs. Strong enduring such atrocities was too much for him to dwell on. The major reasoned that the recent conflicts in town had been the cause. 

Simcoe and his Queen’s Rangers had unsettled Hewlett and the whole town. With the thought of that demon man, he sat up, rubbing a hand across his face. The Major had truly feared for Anna Strong’s safety with him back in Setauket. Recalling the day young Abraham rode in from New York, he had put out a hand, stopping Anna from greeting him. Simcoe had undoubtedly used Richard’s son as an excuse to get close to her. Luckily he was gone, at least for the time being. Hewlett remembered the way his eyes wandered over to where the two of them stood at the threshold, looking her up and down. The wretched man would stop at nothing. 

With a ragged sigh, he relaxed back into his pillow. Mrs. Strong seemed to constantly reside in his thoughts these past days. It was a ridiculous thing, to think of her this way. She was a married woman. Even so, while imprisoned at the rebel camp, he’d envisioned her with him in an attempt to keep his sanity in tact. He did the same now, the thought of her brining a feeling of calm to him. The strength she had, and her fiery spirit, are what he admired most about her. As well as her outward beauty. Letting his eyes fall shut, he fell into a light sleep, thinking of how peculiar it was that his admiration for this woman had grown so fervently.

***

The afternoon was coming to a close, and the dark clouds forming overhead looked as though they might burst at any moment. Anna rubbed her eyes, feeling less than energetic. The day had run more smoothly without the Queen’s Rangers around, true, but the lack of restful sleep she had received the night before was catching up with her. As the day’s workload began to lighten and the tavern emptied, she wearily sat down; it was the first time she had rested her aching feet all day. The pounding of her head dulled slightly with the noise gone, and she allowed herself to slouch in her chair.

Mindlessly folding and unfolding the cleaning rag she held in her lap, she stared into nothing, as one usually does when exhaustion finally sets in. In a moment, however, the creaking of the tavern door startled her from her reverie. Her heart sank for a fleeting second at the thought of another customer, but her dread faded when she the familiar face. Rain was coming down in torrents, and the sound of the water filled the room (how had she not noticed the rain ‘til now?). Major Hewlett closed the door behind him as his eyes flittered across the tavern, stopping when they reached her. The poor man was soaked, though he had managed to keep his powdered wig slightly more protected underneath his cloak. 

In recent days she’d found herself routinely glancing out the tavern window, or listening for his footsteps back at Whitehall. She put on a mask of indifference whenever he came around, but if she were truthful, her stomach would flip at the sight of him. 

“Ah, Mrs. Strong.” He crossed the room to where she was sitting, taking his cloak off as he went. 

“Why Edmund, look at you!” Standing up, she took him by the arm and led him to the hearth. “Come sit by the fire, you must be freezing in those wet clothes.”

There was no time to say a word before he found himself sitting by the fireplace, being helped out of his dripping jacket. In truth, he enjoyed her endearing concern for him. She was a kind woman by nature. “You really mustn’t fuss over me, Mrs. Str–“

“Please, “she interrupted, “Do call me Anna– when we’re alone of course.”

“Well, I–yes, of course… Anna.” He stammered, smiling shyly. 

She hung the red and white jacket out to dry and went to the kitchen, bringing back a pewter pitcher. There seemed to be a magnetism between them, a building tension that Anna was finding hard to ignore.

“Thank you.” He stated quietly. 

“So, uh, was there something you wanted? You don’t often venture to the tavern.” She gave him a questioning glance, and pulled up a chair next to him. 

He looked at her above the rim of the glass, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. “Ah yes. Well I– that is– I thought I might offer to escort you back to Whitehall.”

“That’s kind of you,” she smiled. “but you don’t have to do that, Major. I’m sure I’ll be quite safe with Simcoe gone.” 

He looked at her intently for a moment, trying to decide what to say. Anna’s presence made him tongue-tied. Her confidence was attractive to him. In truth, he did not, at the present time, fear for her safety so much as he longed to spend time with her. A fact which he was timid to reveal. 

“Oh– yes, yes, of course. But uh…” He paused in thought for a moment longer than he intended. 

“But?” She noticed his cautious tone. Whether the kind major realized it or not, his face was an open book. 

“But–ah, well,” he brushed off with a small, nervous smile. “In truth, necessity is not the sole purpose behind my suggestion.” He nervously took another sip of ale.

Pinpointing his meaning, she blushed and fumbled with her dish rag. “I see. Well then– I would be happy if you were to accompany me,” she responded sincerely. “thank you.”

***

They waited around awhile, watching for the rain to stop before making their way home. When the weather finally let up, the sun could be seen, trying its hardest to peek through the clouds. There was something strangely beautiful about an overcast day, thought Hewlett. Grey clouds brought out the vivid colors of earth that seemed to be downplayed by a bright blue sky. 

As the two walked, arm in arm, the Major fought the desire to look at her. There was a contented quiet between them, the only sound breaking the silence were the leaves crunching underfoot. Discretely, he watched her from the corner of his eye. A stray beam of sunlight found its way to her hair, bringing out the red tones beneath her normally dark brown locks. How often he had looked upon her with his heart in his mouth, he could not say, but Hewlett had become more and more aware of it since his return to Setauket. 

Breaking the silence, Hewlett cleared his throat. 

“Anna, I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“I wondered if you might like to join me at the telescope again. It occurred to me that I forgot to point out a few constellations the last time. You may enjoy seeing them.” 

He had not technically fibbed, for there were many constellations, but he would have done anything to spend time with her. 

“I’d like that.” She stated with a sweet tone. She did not hold back when she looked up at him and grinned.

Returning her smile, he fixed his eyes back on the road. What was that? He thought, as a slight crease began to form between his eyes. There was something different about her that he could not put his finger on. What was it? They had become good friends of course, but the look she had just given him– he’d never seen that before. Edmund Hewlett tried to hold back the urge to glance at her, but he couldn’t help himself.  
Dear God, man.

She had looked back. He felt like a silly school boy, but that look was still there; something about her eyes was new, the way she focused on him disparately. Hewlett began to notice what Anna had picked up on back at DeJong’s; a strange tension was building between them.

They approached their destination, both seeming to notice each other’s changed manner. As they came to the front steps, Mary Woodhull opened the door, wearing a deeply concerned expression that she was failing to hide. 

“Welcome home.” She said, a forced nonchalance in her tone. 

“I say, Mrs. Woodhull, is everything alright?” Hewlett couldn’t bare a woman to be distressed. Ignoring it would have been against his very nature.

He watched her as her eyes glanced from Anna, then back to him. “Yes, of course, Major. I’m fine.” She seemed to relax, which made her response satisfactory to him. 

“Dinner will be served in about an hour. Father wanted to dine a bit earlier this evening, if that is agreeable to you?”

“Oh, perfectly. I look forward to it as usual.” He said, placing a hand on his abdomen underneath his jacket. “You know; I’m quite starved actually.”

“Anna,” Mary’s voice was stern, but not unkind. “Might I have a word in private?” Anna gave a curt nod, offering a glance to him before taking her leave..

Watching her glance back before ascending the staircase, he saw it again. That look in her eyes. Though she had turned her back to him now, his gaze still followed her, noticing the way the edges of her skirt draped over each step as she climbed them, her hands delicately hovering the rail. In the back of his mind, he was curious as to what the two women were up to, but he didn’t dwell on it. 

The major, looking for something to preoccupy himself before dinner, made his way into the sitting room. He had found that his favorite place to sit was on the small settee by the fireplace, as it reminded him of a room in his home back in London. Seated with a book, he opened the pages, but did not read. His eyes instead stared at the rug in front of him, mind wandering back to his walk home with Anna. 

It hadn’t ever occurred to him that she might enjoy his company, at least, not to the extent that he enjoyed hers. Though he was not sure, it seemed that her feelings were not quite as indifferent as he previously thought. But– was it possible? Was there even the smallest chance that she returned his admiration? 

After a short pause, he scoffed to himself. “No. No, of course not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheesh, this chapter was more difficult than it should have been, and I'm not in love with it, but I think I've got a better grasp on where I want to take this story.


	3. Cautious Tones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The pleasure I received reading of your young lady is beyond any words I can put to paper, if I can indeed call her yours?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought you'd see the last of me.

  
Bruises, cuts, blood; there was blood everywhere, covering him in patches like a quilt. The room was practically filled with the scent of blood on his clothing as well, making her normally stiff constitution waver a bit. Compared to the rest of the house, the room was stiflingly hot, which magnified the odor. Abraham sat in a wooden chair next to the bedroom hearth, slumped over and half asleep. His shirt tails were loose and sleeves ripped. She hadn't entered the room expecting anything quite as appalling as this. And to think, she had come very close to retiring for the day. The possibility of sleep now, she thought, was next to none.

Abraham had been the topic of discussion between the two women a day before. Mary, having requested to speak to her in private, was irrational with worry, and for good reason. He'd left before daylight and hadn't been seen since. They speculated where he might be located, but their whispered conversation had been interrupted by Judge Woodhull, calling from the base of the stairs.

She observed him from a distance at first, not quite sure what to do. His face had been partially cleaned, but there were still tell-tale streaks of blood running here and there. He said nothing as she stepped closer to study him, only watched, as she mentally counted each injury. An abrasion on his neck ran from one ear to the other, undoubtably caused by a rope burn. My god, had he been put in a noose? She exchanged glances with Mary, who was preparing bandages, the crease between brows marking her abhorrence to the sight of him.

"Good heavens," she finally managed to say, looking back to Abe. "who did this to you?"

No answer. His face contorted in discomfort. She could see his Adam's apple twitching frantically under his chin, as if he were attempting to force a response.

"He's barely gotten two sentences out since he staggered up to the house." Mary whispered, bringing a basin of water to clean his wounds.

Anna followed suit and hushed her own voice. "Am I to understand that no one knows he's home?"

She gestured a hand in his directional she spoke, noticing from the corner of her eye how he brooded over not being able to speak for himself. Abe had always preferred being in control of a situation, even when they were children.

"No...not yet..."

Her expression told Anna that there was more.

"Hewlett's courier is dead."

A slight pang went through her chest. Her tone sounded regretful. As it should. Memories of that night flooded her thoughts. She had sought Mary's help. Her help. The last thing she had expected was a counter plot on another innocent's life, and from her—of all people! This woman, a vision of quiet morality and decency if there ever was one. A woman who took great pride in her loyalty to her family, and the King. What was different now?

She contemplated the question in respects to both Mary and herself. A year ago, she might have been more accepting of the situation. Hell, she might have even suggested such a scheme herself, but not now. When her property was taken away from her, when Abigail was sent away, her husband imprisoned, sure, senseless violence might've crossed her mind. As a matter of fact, it had. But the bitterness was gone. Well, maybe not completely, she considered, but things were changing–and she with them.

"I see." Her eyes pressed shut.

Everything in her gut told her to stand up and walk out of the room, to burn this bridge and have nothing more to do with it all. Was the part she was playing really important enough to make a difference? She couldn't though. Whether out of loyalty to her friend or the cause, she wasn't sure, but there were questions racing through her mind that still needed answering.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke more urgently this time. "Who did this to you? Simcoe? His men?"

He shook his head, and managed a hoarse reply. "R—Rog-ers."

___________________________________________________

The rippling of water could be heard as Major Hewlett stood, quietly observing the forest lining the opposite end of the sound. It was still quite cold out, but spring was coming, and the trees had regained their foliage. In the darkness, the trees were only visible by the moonlight that reflected from the glossy side of the leaves as they shifted in the breeze.

Enemy soil was such a seemingly short distance from where he watched, he thought, a small frown carved into his features.

To his disappointment, the sky was not clear enough for star gazing, but he enjoyed the quiet solitude nonetheless. Hewlett gazed at the shore for a moment longer, then turned homeward.

The evenings were his favorite. The peaceful, darkened hours allowed him time to relax and reflect on the events of the day, and perhaps, for a moment, forget about the war raging around him. It was always around this time, usually after indulging in a second glass of wine or brandy with Richard, that he took walks around the grounds of Whitehall. A daily ritual he had carried over from England.

The major was a creature of habit, as anyone who, of even the briefest acquaintance, could see. He thrived in an orderly environment, even in the trivial things. Now, even at the end of the day, his wig was tidy, and cloak neatly folded over his shoulder. He supposed that the army had rubbed off on him in that way, and in the way he managed his personal affairs. That is, if there was any personal business to manage.

As a child, his early years had been much different; filled with spontaneity. Those were very happy times. Evenings at his fathers telescope were laced with dreams of what the future might hold. He'd be a famous astronomer someday, he'd tell papa. There were new, bright constellations to be found—and he would name them— and the whole world would _know_ his name. These were the memories that filled him with joy, and, sometimes, a bit of regret. He cherished the memories of the quiet weekend breakfasts his mother would make, and the hours he spent reading afterwards. The way he could see her smirk out of the corner of his eye, a silent, breathy giggle escaping her lips. Mother had always made it a point to encourage his studies, and he, in turn, made it a point to further his knowledge no matter what other duties he must honor.

Those happy days did not last, however. He grew older, times became harder and more was required of him. He wondered whether or not that was when he began his nightly walks, with what seemed to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. For years they had lived in the country, with the clear skies and green fields that he loved so much. But at 14, his father had taken ill and died quite suddenly, leaving him the head of the house. The lack of work prompted him to consider joining the royal army, and in a few short months, they had transplanted themselves from the lush green fields and clear skies, to the smoggy, tight quarters of London. It was easy to see the charms of such a city now that he was a grown man. All Edmund Hewlett really wanted now, though, was to return to the English countryside he adored.

This—this life he lived— wasn't the dream he had conjured up as a boy. It wasn't even close. Even now, he prayed for the day this conflict would end.

There were things he did value though; the path he chose was not one entirely filled with regret. The army had shaped him into the man he was today.

It was strange. He hadn't thought about his childhood home in years, but suddenly there it was, as clear a vision as if he'd seen it only yesterday. The letter he'd received from his mother was to blame, he reasoned, letting out a hoarse chuckle. How he missed her. The poor woman had been at her wits end since his journey to the colonies, and the correspondence they shared had a tendency to be long winded (at least, on her part). Pulling out the three pages from his breast pocket, he skimmed over her words once more, squinting his eyes in the dim moonlight.

Eleonora Hewlett had a heart of the purest gold. Anyone could see that, even if they only had her letters to go by. The major tried to envision her face in his mind. He bore no obvious resemblance to her, despite the coloring of her eyes. The most striking facial feature had always been her near-perfect complexion, and the wave in her hair (a feature that receive many a compliment from papa).

The relationship between himself and his mother was one that he held dear to his heart. They had always been close; the trials they faced after his fathers death proved to only strengthen that bond. That being said, Edmund was always eager to hear the latest news from their social circles, however unimportant it may be. Such diversions were welcome. In turn, he sent regular progress reports concerning himself, and the status of his remote little village.

The letter he received today, however, was a little different. For he new it did not contain trivial tittle tattle. In truth, his heart rate had quickened slightly at the sight of her name on that envelope back at the garrison, with the familiar swirly handwriting she was known for. His last letter had contained rather interesting news, and he was not quite sure of the response he would receive. The news, to be more specific, concerned a certain lady.

It was not his initial intention to include Anna in his ramblings, but it was unavoidable. She had been in the forefront of his mind for sometime now, and his dear mother's reply was as he expected. Enthusiastic. Possibly too enthusiastic. He hated to think that he might've given her false hope, but when one has such high hopes themselves (hopes that would certainly lead to madness), the temptation to share them is almost irresistible. The major knew that, in spite of her pride in his education and rank, she had always longed for him to marry. An area in which he had quite let her down.

He didn't have to reread the passage concerning the lady in question. He'd read it more that a dozen times over the course of the afternoon.

_I'm very pleased to here that your commission in Setauket is not entirely unpleasant. The pleasure I received reading of your young lady is beyond any words I can put to paper, if I can indeed call her yours? I take your word that she is as strong and fine as you say, for the dear girl must be to live in such a place. I do hope that if your feelings are truly ardent, that you will come to a happy agreement with her before this conflict is resolved._

He shut is eyes for a brief moment. _Yours_ , she had said. Is she mine? Hewlett frowned. He didn't like the way that sounded— _mine_. That had an air of Simcoe about it. He did not want to own the woman, for goodness sake. To have a woman such as Mrs. Strong by his side would be an honor, a privilege that he would cherish forever.

The major put the letter back in his pocket as he continued his stroll. Lights from the house reached the place he stood, creating a soft glow on the ground that he walked. He was quite startled when a shadow interrupted the ray of light in his path.

It was the lady herself, standing there, wrapped in a thick shawl. It struck him immediately that her hair was different, arranged in a loose braid that fell across her left shoulder. Anna Strong stood quietly, staring at nothing in particular. It puzzled him to find an expression of solemnity on her face. One that he had never seen before.

She did not turn, or even seem to notice that he was standing a mere 5 paces from her. Hesitating for a moment, fingers nervously balling and unballing into a fist, he cleared his throat. Startled from her hypnotic-state, the veil of worry that covered her face and clouded her eyes immediately faded into an expression he could not read. As though she were afraid her thoughts were written on her forehead, the sternness in her jaw relaxed and her eyes wandered upward to meet his.

"I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh no, that's alright," she said calmly. "I thought you had retired for the evening."  
  
"No, I find I'm not very ti—"

"Edmund—" she interrupted, face contorting in worry.

Hewlett stepped closer. He urged her to continue with a soft mm?

"Abraham has returned– badly hurt I'm afraid. One of your men has already gone for the doctor."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest this story is killing me, because I'm just kind of winging it. You guys know as much as I do at this point. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for the kudos!


	4. So, This Is Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wasn't looking at the stars, and neither was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, it's been awhile. I figured that it was about time something interesting happened, so hopefully this chapter makes up for the lack of updates? And in case anyone was wondering, this will definitely veer away from anything canon.

"My god, what has happened?" Edmund stared at her in the dim light, asking the question only after his eyes had widened sufficiently.

  Before Robert Roger's name had even formed on her lips, Anna stopped herself from saying the words. Abe had not sworn her to secrecy on that score, but she realized that she had no convincing alibi to protect him with, should the Major make inquiries. She couldn't remember how many times she had lied to him over the course of their acquaintance, but it was becoming more frequent with every passing day. Of that she was sure. However, it was only in recent weeks that she had ever felt sorry for it.

"I don't know exactly." She paused, taking in his concerned expression, and the close proximity of him to her. One corner of his mouth dipped downward in a frown as it always did when he was perturbed or worried. "He couldn't explain. He's not well, after all."

  There it was. That pang of guilt in her chest. Though it wasn't a complete lie, it was not the truth. For she knew it was because of a greater matter that Abe found himself in this precarious situation now. She didn't even know if he had managed the task he'd set out to do. The one that would eventually affect the man standing before her.

  Anna looked down, pretending to study the grass. This was becoming wearisome. She'd found in him recently the confidant she'd always longed for. In her eyes, Major Hewlett was no longer an obstacle in this battle between red and blue. Politics aside, his character held a level of purity that was so refreshing. The fact that she was only noticing it now bewildered her. If she could somehow ignore his loyalty to King and Country, she might also admire the diligence he had in his work.

  She looked up as the Major sighed a bit dramatically.

"Oh dear. I should go to him, see if I—" He stopped mid-turn when her felt her hand on his shoulder.

 _What prompted that?_ She wondered.

"Edmund, there's nothing more to be done until the doctor arrives. Mary has everything in order."

  Her hand did not break contact with the fabric draped over his arm, and she felt his tense muscles relax beneath her touch.

"I suppose you're right." He relented, turning around to face her once more.

  For just a moment, they stood quietly. A hearty breeze had kicked up, making the air seem much cooler than it actually was. Anna was glad she'd chosen a warm wrap before coming out of doors. However, the cold air stung her neck, sending goose flesh across her skin.

  By and by, the notion to walk passed mutually between them. Occasionally she'd glance his way. If Hewlett was worried, she thought, he certainly didn't show it. At least, not to the degree she had expected. It was a relief to her that he did not show much concern. Had he made a mountain out of it, Abe might've been in greater danger.

  Anna clutched her shawl, watching the way there steps had synchronized in pace. Hewlett startled her when he suddenly place his hand at the small of her back, and she cast her gaze upward once more. He was looking at the sky, which she now noticed was glittering immaculately. Had it been clear before? No, she was sure the sky had been too overcast to see anything before.

  Perhaps this was the reason behind his reaction, she considered, as her gaze was now fixed on his profile rather than the celestial wonders he was pointing to.

***

"Look, my dear, the clouds have finally shifted!"

  The feeling of his embarrassment at the spontaneous use of 'dear' was not all together apparent on his features, but he was sure she had noticed. Luckily, the darkness camouflaged his crimson cheeks.

 _Idiot._ She _did_ noticed _._

  The awkwardness he felt was only magnified when he realized that she was looking at him. A tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers reminded him where his hand was. He froze, indecision clouding his usually sound judgment.

_What on earth had come over him?_

  What was so astounding was that, in spite of his overwhelming desire to flee out of mortification, Anna seemed to welcome his touch. Not only that, but— _was she leaning into him?_ It was true, she turned her head to watch the twinkling sky, shoulder tentatively wedged in the crook of his arm. Her skirts swirling about in the breeze, occasionally brushing against his legs. As he attempted to gather his thoughts, the sound of her rich voice met his ears.

"Which stars can you see tonight, Edmund."

  He couldn't breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the major knew they should be listening for a horse, signaling that the doctor had arrived, but the thought was well hidden in the strange beauty of the moment. Trying to collect himself, he cleared his throat.

"Well, uh-" His voice was barely audible, but she was close enough to hear. He scanned the sky quickly for anything familiar.

_Ah. Perfect._

"Look there, Anna." Hewlett pointed to the left, his arm hovering just under her line of vision. "There's Pictor. It's just above that sycamore tree."

  There was no need for a telescope to see this particular grouping, and she found it without trouble. He watched the corner of her mouth turn up slightly as she studied it, and he followed suit. He could see her breath in the chill air, as she let her mouth hang slightly open. She caught his gaze before he could avert it elsewhere, and could swear that she was even closer than before. The moon, which had just peaked through the sparse foliage, made her dark brown eyes glisten. And Edmund found himself quite lost in them.

"Tell me about it." She whispered, her eyes roaming about his face.

"Hm?" He barely heard her over his thumping chest.

"Tell me about this Pictor, Edmund."

"Um, well- it's Latin for Painter, you see. Pictor is actually an abbreviation for Pictoris."

She wasn't looking at the stars, and neither was he.

"It's also known as Equuleus Pictoris, meaning 'horse painter'," His eyes wandered down to her lips as he spoke. "Which— which I actually find quite um, quite intriguing."

  His breath was becoming labored. It was apparent that they were both suddenly filled with the desire to move closer. Both of their heads angling as he spoke. The hand, which still lingered at her back, gently snaked around to her waist. And her own hand, the one sandwiched between them, mirrored his movement.

"You know, I've always wondered why Louis de Lacaille attached 'horse' to the title." Now he was rambling, and completely unaware of it. "But I suppose—"

  Anna cut him off when she leaned in, her nose lightly brushing passed his until their lips met. She was as warm and soft as he had envisioned. Hewlett eagerly kissed her back, being careful to match her delicacy at first. The hair around her face was slipping from its loose plait, tickling his cheek, and he brought his free hand up to weave his fingers into it.

  They briefly pulled apart to breath, meeting each other's eyes when they did so. He was pleased to find the same yearning to continue reflected in her gaze, and he acted upon this without delay.

  He pulled her closer, kissing her with a passion that was reciprocated immediately. A tiny moan hummed from the back of her throat as his tongue found hers. Before they new what was happening, they were backing themselves into the shadow of a large pine tree. It's leaves rustled overhead, drowning out all sounds except for their own voices as they whispered each other's names.

  Edmund broke the kiss, resting his head against hers. His eyes were shut. Anna leaned against the tree, sliding her arms up and around his neck. Suddenly the chill in the air was gone. She felt _alive_ and full of color.

  When he opened his eyes again, he found hers already watching him. Not only that, but she was smiling.

"I don't know what to say." He admitted, drawing circles on her back with his index finger.

"You don't have to say anything."

  She pulled his head down and pecked the corner of his mouth once, twice.... Switching to the other side she let her lips linger, making his eyes flutter shut once more. Her attentions turned elsewhere as she made her way to his neck, each soft kiss lasting longer than the one before. Edmund couldn't help but recall the first time she had kissed him, albeit a little less languidly, in the tavern after his return. The intoxicating mixture of want and affection he felt then was now being tripled.

  If he'd thought this moment would last forever, he would have been mistaken. For above the noise of shifting branches, they both heard the pounding of a horse's hooves.

***

  The sudden racket made them both jump. And Anna, still holding Edmund by the neck, felt his hands softly pull them down. Had she not also been aware that the doctor was but a hundred yards away, she would've paid more attention to the warmth she found with her hands enclosed in his.

"I should go." He started. "Come with me."

  He made to place her arm in the crook of his elbow, but she resisted.

"No, Edmund, I think it would be best if I waited a bit."

  He caught her meaning in the tone of her voice. It was Richard Woodhull that she was worried about, at least, that is what he assumed. So, the major let her hand slip from his fingers, regretting the lack of contact almost immediately.

"I understand." He whispered, running his knuckles gently across her cheek.

  And with that, he left her, walking with such determination that she giggled quietly to herself. Her amusement was cut short, however, when she let everything that'd happened sink in her mind like an anchor. She grazed her fingers over her lips, remembering his touch. It'd felt so right. All of it. But the pit of her stomach churned with anxiety, for the side of herself that she hid from him, the spy, was wracked with confusion and hatred for this complex situation.

But also a _longing_ for it.

  She deduced that she loved him, in a rather bewildering sort of way. She loved him because he was different. Almost odd. She loved the way he kissed her. Delicately, but not without passion. She loved him, not because of his cause, but because of the goodness he retained while trying to accomplish it. He wasn't like Simcoe, or others similar to him. Men like John Simcoe let nothing stand in their way. Even the solemn rules by which they themselves were bound.

  But in the same way she knew she loved Edmund deeply, she also loved him reluctantly, for she could never give herself fully to him. Her secrets were too damning, and she loathed them. But more than that, Anna loathed herself for letting such conflicting emotions control her.

  She let these feelings wash over her in the darkness, filling her lungs with the fresh scent on pine. As she stepped out of the shadows, something crackled. She glanced around the dark area in a momentary state of panic. It took her only a moment, though, to realize that that _something_ was under her own foot. She shifted her skirts to locate the object, only to find a slip of paper that had been folded. No, she thought, picking it up. It was a letter. A letter that was several pages long.

  Her thumb traced the edges of the page as she scanned the neat, swirling calligraphy. But before the words had registered in her brain, a large, dirty hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her piercing screams.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has has reached 500+ hits! Thanks guys! I'm always blown away by the fact that people actually like this fic.


	5. Beastly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She woke in a thicket of tall grass, the sun beating down on her upturned face. It was warm, without even a hint of wind to cool her skin. She sat up tentatively to take in her surroundings, finding she'd barely made it to the tree line.  
> A fact which did nothing to ease her anxiety.

"Dammit Annie, quit your wailin'!"

The familiar voice hissing in her ear did not stop her from biting Caleb's hand as hard as she could, and with a mixed look of mischievousness and pain, he jerked it away. It was still strange to her, seeing him without a beard. It reminded her of when they were children; him giving her that look of 'it-was-only-a-joke.'

 _"What the hell are you doing here?!"_ She spat under her breath.

Forcing herself to whisper, when all she really wanted to do was give him an earful, was a challenge she didn't feel up to accepting. How long had he been waiting? What had he seen? She might die if she looked have as flustered as she felt. He had pulled her through the woods quite a distance. She could barely see the lights flickering from inside the house in the distance.

"Woody didn't meet me. Where is the little shite?"

Anna let out a short huff. "Are you out of your head, Caleb? What if someone sees you?" She nodded her head towards the house for emphasis.

"I could ask you the same question, Annie. I saw what was goin' on between you and lobster-back over there. Where's your head, huh?

 _Damn_.

She was thankful that the night camouflaged her crimson cheeks. Though she wished, if just for a moment, that the dewy grass had swallowed her up just then.

"...leave it." She whispered.

"Come on, you can't—"

" _Leave it._ "

The biting edge in her voice finally silenced him for a moment, sending his hands in the air as a sign of truce.

"Ok fine, I'll put a cork in it. For now."

He gave her a look she knew well. One that made her uneasy. Anna wasn't quite sure, but she felt an odd fear that she would soon have to make a choice. One that she wasn't sure she was ready to make.

"But ya haven't answered my other question. Where's Abe?"

She exhaled.

"Rogers got hold of him while he was trying to acquire Hewlett's letter from Easton. He's laying all cut and bruised in his bed." Caleb was looking more perturbed with each word. "To tell you the truth, I don't know how he got away. He looks pathetic up there."

"Are you kidding me? What did he do to Easton?"

Anna only raised her eyebrows. He got the message.

With a groan he leaned and elbow on a nearby tree, wiping a hand across his brow. "That bastard...Who's brilliant idea was that, hm?"

"His wife's."

"You're jokin'."

"I wish I were. It seems she plans to help Abe. Though I don't know if you could exactly say she's on our side."

"Benny-boy ain't gonna believe this." He shook his head in mild disbelief.

"Ok, look," he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out what looked like a small farmer's almanac. "You have to apply the ink reagent to this and get it to Abe soon. It's from good ole 711 himself."

She took the volume and placed it inside her left stocking. Not even bothering to turn away from Caleb. She didn't care.

Anna had forgotten about the letter she was holding. And the sight of it in her hand sent a jolt through her. She hadn't read it, but she knew it was Edmund's. It had been laying only feet from where they had stood under the tree. As she slid the almanac in place, she let the letter slide in behind it for safe keeping, silently praying that Caleb hadn't seen it.

With her skirts in order once more, she heaved a sigh that sent a fog into the chill night air.

"I'll see it done."

***

Anna was almost to the Woodhull's farm. The sound of crickets and frogs permeated throughout her surroundings, piercing her ears with annoying repetition. She focused on the dirt road in front of her. It was dimly lit by the moon that was trying to peak it's way through a cloud overhead, and she strained her eyes to scan her surroundings.

She could see the burnt remains of the farm house now. They reminded her of an old carcass; a hollow cluster of bones left to the earth to decompose. The crunch of dirt and gravel under her feet dissipated as she crept across the wet grass. The dew soaked into the hem of her skirts and brushed against her ankles. The almanac that was in her stocking was coming away from its confines, so she stopped. Anna bent down, lifting her skirt as she did so. The item was so small, she would never find it if it fell to the ground in the darkness. As for the letter, well, she was simply too curious to read what it said. It was girlish, perhaps, but what could it hurt?

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the cellar. It was only steps away. In fact, she could touch it if she leaned far enough forward. She took another glance as she secured the book, and froze, eyes locked on the entrance. Her blood ran cold when she saw the glow of candlelight through the cracks in the door. No sound came from within, which could only mean that she'd been heard. Whomever it was knew she was there.

No. _No, no, no_. She thought, panic gnawing at her chest. As she turned to flee, the sound of rusty hinges stopped her in her tracks.

"What do we have here?" The words rolled off his Scottish tongue in a raspy tone. The candle he held out between them cast unflattering shadows across his face, making him look as intimidating as he sounded.

She saw his bearded lips curl into a devilish smile, his recognition of her apparent in his eyes.

"It can't be." He chucked. "Not the fair, tavern wench..."

Anna strained to level her breathing, not wanting Rogers to see her fear. Her eyes flicked in all directions, searching for anything to distract him. Out of pure desperation, she lunged forward, batting the candle stick out of his grasp. There eyes, which had adjusted to the dim glow by now, were shaded by darkness once more.

She ran. But in what direction? She couldn't see a thing. She begged her eyes to find the moonlight, but she'd already tripped over her skirts.

"Dammit all." She grunted, struggling to stand.

In the process of escape, she'd hopelessly disoriented herself. All she could do was hide.

***

Edmund Hewlett stood motionless. His eyes were dry and red from lack of sleep, lined with veins around his pupils that were normally clear and white. Everything felt numb. The breeze was gone, leaving the trees still and the air thick with a cold humidity. Aside from the occasional chirp from a nearby sparrow, the quiet of his surroundings made his ears ring incessantly.

He's stared at the tree line, the edge of which was only a few paces from where he had stopped. With his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, he worked his jaw from right to left. Had anyone been close enough, they would've undoubtedly noticed the cringeworthy sound of him gritting his teeth. It was one of his poor, stress related habits that came with situations such as these. The times he felt helpless and completely at the mercy of Providence.

One hand rested at his sword, gloved fingers tapping at the iron. Whether it was out of habit, or his readiness to fight, he could not say. In the other, he absently clutched a shawl of woolen fabric between his fingers. It was hers; a shawl of grey and green that Edmund thought suited her warm skin tone. He'd found it under the tree where they'd been standing only hours earlier. The major had frantically called her name the moment he saw it, knowing that something was surely amiss. Not a moment since had gone by that he did not reprimand himself for abandoning her.

And all for so-called propriety. What good was propierty now? He cursed.

Inhaling sharply, in an attempt to bring himself back to earth, he folded the material neatly and placed it under his arm. Anna would not be located by standing idle. So, he made his way back to house where his men stood. They were scattered about, either slumping criss-cross in the dewy grass, or leaning against the siding of the house. It was an unorganized sight, but he could hardly blame them. They'd been up most of the night searching. He called for his horse, signaling to the weary bunch that it was time to set out again.

They had searched as far as the Brewster farm when they decided to turn back. All the while, a dozen gruesome possibilities as to her whereabouts had floated around in his mind. He'd considered Simcoe at first, which would've been likely had he not heard news that the dreadful man was now in Philadelphia. Another idea, one which made him shudder with disgust, was that those damned rebels had returned.

His brow was deeply furrowed as he mounted the dark bay animal. He looked down to collect up his reins and adjust his sword. Spring was coming. He could always tell by the amount of winter fur left coating his gloves after he settled himself in the saddle. Letting the matted hair float to the ground, he cued the horse forward with a gentle squeeze of his calves. His men followed suit, pulling their tired bodies up and over their horses one by one, all of which were equally exhausted. With heads hanging low, and eyes that drooped lazily.

Hewlett didn't know where to go. He was tired. Worried. However, they split up into groups of three just as they had done before.

"Wakefield, you come with me." He commanded, motioning the man over to him. "Lieutenant Sherman, you assign the rest of the men. We'll meet back at Whitehall at noon. If you find Mrs. Strong, fire three shots."

And with that, they set off down the road.

***

She woke in a thicket of tall grass, the sun beating down on her upturned face. It was warm, without even a hint of wind to cool her skin. She sat up tentatively to take in her surroundings, finding she'd barely made it to the tree line. A fact which did nothing to ease her anxiety.

Anna could see above the grass surrounding her, but only just. The old shack could be seen in the distance. For a long time she sat, feeling the wetness of the grass through her now filthy dress. She tried to build up the courage to stand—to trudge back to Whitehall— but the threat of Robert Rogers held her back. Was he still searching for her? No one seemed to be around, that much she was sure of. However, if he was, she knew she'd never outrun him in the light of day.

She had to get back, though. They must be wondering where she was. _Edmund must be wondering_ , she corrected herself. The other residents of that house probably hadn't even noticed that she was gone.

She had not seen the major since the night before— since their rendezvous under the trees— and Anna suddenly realized how suspicious it would be to come trudging into the house now. Not only covered in mud, but without a decent story to keep any further questions at bay...

She absently wiped her hand across her face, disgusted to find a tick attached to her cheek.

"Oh, get off me you beastly thing." She huffed after removing the pest.

A crunch of grass behind her sent her spinning like a top to locate the source of the noise, her eyes wide and clouded with fear like a stray doe at the receiving end of a musket barrel.

"I do hope you aren't referring to me."

It seemed as though she wouldn't need to come up with a story after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Anna didn't get away after all. Whoops. What happens next? Psh, don't ask me, because y'all know as much as I do at this point. 
> 
> But hey, this is the fastest that I've ever updated, I think? WITHIN a month. Go me (That's a joke. I'm a mess.)!


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